


Route 66

by mugsandpugs



Series: Dad Logan [3]
Category: X-Men Evolution
Genre: Adopted Children, Amusement Parks, Aquariums, Domestic Fluff, Family Feels, Gen, M/M, Museums, Road Trips, Summer Vacation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:40:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27323647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mugsandpugs/pseuds/mugsandpugs
Summary: 2,448 miles in a rusted old Winnebago seems as good a way to break in a new family as any.
Relationships: Lance Alvers/Pietro Maximoff
Series: Dad Logan [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/791520
Comments: 19
Kudos: 44





	1. Philadelphia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Technically, it's the city of _brotherly_ love...

Not a single member of the Brotherhood household had ever been on a vacation before.

Lance, juggled through Chicago's foster system before landing in Deerfield's "home for boys," rarely had enough to _eat;_ let alone money for a trip.

Todd had narrowly avoided any such system, but freedom came at the cost of homelessness. At age sixteen, he'd spent more nights sleeping in doorways and on park benches than he had a proper bed.

Although Fred's family were more traditionally nuclear, running a labor-intensive ranch scarcely left time or money for school and church. And once his parents made it clear that any mutant was "no son of theirs," it was all he could do to care for himself on his own.

And then there were the twins. Separated at age nine: one left with neglectful foster parents, the other dumped in an asylum... It was no small wonder that vacation had never been a priority.

Which was to say, the day Logan pulled into the driveway of their in a rattling, clanking, smoke-spewing Winnebago older than all of them put together, none of the teens knew quite what to say.

"Everybody pack your bags," Logan commanded, a grin eclipsing his weathered, fuzzy face. "We're goin' on a road trip." 

* * *

Lance had made the twelve-hour drive from Chicago to Bayville once before, and never thought he'd be reversing it; let alone in an aged elephant of a vehicle with his boyfriend, three siblings, a yowling cat, and his newly-adopted father.

That said, Pennsylvania was pretty in the summer. So _green;_ tall trees lining the roads, farms and fields in every direction. There were lakes, sunflowers...

"We could stop by Gettysburg," Pietro said dubiously, flipping through the guidebooks Logan had packed. He had them spread over the table in the back of the 'Bago. "If anyone's interested in historical war sites..."

 _Nobody_ was interested in historical war sites. Not even Logan, who'd been there when said battles were originally fought.

"What about the Philly museum of art?" Todd peered over his shoulder, pointing with the onion and cheddar chips they'd bought while fueling up at a gas station. "That looks cool..."

"There's a town called 'Intercourse'. Why the hell are we missing _that_ action?!"

"Because there's nothing there but horse-drawn carriages! You read _Black Beauty;_ you know how that shit goes..."

"Eastern state penitentiary?"

"We did _not_ drive all this way just to go to a depressing old prison, when we can go to school anytime."

"You are all missing the obvious," interrupted Wanda. She was curled like a cat in the booth, her cheek pressed to the wide window. "Go to page 46."

Pietro cocked his head, then curiously turned to where his sister requested. Right there, on page 46, was the word 'Hersheypark.' He read aloud about all the rides and attractions and, most importantly, the _chocolate_ awaiting them.

Behind the wheel, Logan grinned.

* * *

Because it was a weekday afternoon, the park wasn't as crowded as it might otherwise have been. However, it was a bright, sunny day in June, and so traffic was still no joke. It took far too long to find somewhere to park.

"Gotta pee, gotta pee, gotta pee!" Todd sang, hopping on all fours towards the orange outhouses lining the storied garage.

Logan circled his remaining kids, attacking them with spray-on sunblock.

"I'm _Greek,"_ Lance whined, flinching at the cold, sticky blast to the back of his neck. "I don't get sunburned..."

"I ain't losin' my kids to skin cancer, bub," Logan grunted, and smacked an ugly, wide-brimmed hat on his son's head. "Get used to it."

When Fred saw Todd returning, he dipped a shoulder, offering, and the toad took it in one bound. He sat on his favorite perch and coated Fred's scalp in sunblock, before wrapping it with a sweatband. Without hair to protect him, sweat ran straight into the big guy's eyes.

"Everybody ready?" Logan asked, adjusting the fanny pack containing his wallet and keys around his waist.

"I'm not talking to you if you're gonna wear that thing," Pietro warned. "I don't know you."

"I'll take that as a yes. Let's go." Logan guided his little gang to the check-in lines.

As expected of Pietro's attention span, he didn't last long. "Don't steal anything," was Logan's only stipulation as he ran past the lines and into the park, faster than the eye could follow.

They were halfway through the line before he returned, a map and some chocolates — _"they were giving them away for free; honest!"_ — in hand. "So they've got a buncha rides, but I don't think Fred or Todd could fit in most of them; a water park; some pools; shops; a zoo..."

They put their heads together over the map, planning out the best route for the few hours they had left.

Logan held an arm out, meeting Wanda's eyes, and she allowed him to pull her close. "Remember the rules, Sparkles," he murmured, nuzzling.

"I haven't forgotten," she recited. "Squeeze Fred's hand twice if I feel overwhelmed, and go find somewhere quiet to decompress."

Logan gave her shoulder a kiss. She was too tall in platform boots to reach her cheek without stretching. "You got it."

She did indeed take Fred's hand as they filed into the park, wristbands in place. She'd been in big, full places, before... The mall was a big place. Lance's high school graduation had been full of people. But this... This was bigger, fuller, than either of those things. All of her senses were assaulted at once; her ears, her eyes, her nose... Even the chocolate melting on her tongue seemed, for a moment, too strong.

Fred understood. Fred _always_ understood. He took her under his arm, tucking her face in his chest, and rubbed gentle fingers up and down her spine. People didn't come so close when he was holding onto her.

Gradually, she began to distinguish the roar of noises. Water, running. Wheels on roller coaster tracks. Motors whirring. People shrieking and whooping in pretend-fear. Barkers encouraging everyone to play their games. It was a lot; it was so much, too much, but she'd brought Lance's old Walkman for a reason. Once she got the headphones over her ears, once she had acoustic guitar sounds soothing her anxiety, she felt considerably better.

Fred kept hold of her hand, and she was grateful.

Pietro looked at her, his lips moving, and she lifted one pad off her ear to hear him speak: "I thought you and Fred would like to go on the monorail? It tours the whole park, so you can see everything." He pointed to what looked like a silver bullet train circling above them.

Wanda considered, looked at Fred, and nodded. Grinning, he took a copy of the map and began following the path that led to a loading station.

"Not me!" Todd crowed, hopping off Fred's shoulder. "I wanna go on the _coasters!_ C'mon, Tro-bro; c'mon, c'mon!"

"Coasters are _boring..."_ Pietro whined, digging in his heels as Todd dragged him away. "I could run your tiny ass over the entire state twice as fast; _three_ times as fast..."

"What about you, Rocky?" Logan asked, thumping his remaining child's back. "Coasters?"

Lance's face turned an alarming shade of green. "No, thank you. I will puke. I will puke _so hard..._ You've never seen anyone puke like I can puke."

"Ugh. Roger that."

* * *

Wanda liked the Monorail. She and Fred sat across from each other in a cozy booth, travelling at a smooth, sedate pace over and under and through all the attractions of Hersheypark. She pressed her face to the window, listening to an automated voice explaining everything she was seeing.

"Beneath us right now is the Wild Mouse! Designed by Mack Rides in 1999, this roller coaster frequently makes sharp turns, giving riders the illusion they’re about to fall off the track..." 

* * *

"Holy balls, we're gonna fall off the track!" Pietro's throat was raw from screaming. He may have been able to run faster than this coaster could move, but never so high up, and never with such sharp, juddering turns twisting his stomach into knots.

He watched in horror as Todd's bony little ass left the seat entirely, defying gravity as they spun and jerked. With the instinct of a terrified big brother, he slammed both palms down on the toad's skinny thighs, tethering him to the seat.

Cackling like a madman, Todd threw his head back and whooped. 

* * *

"This is nice, huh?" Logan wasn't usually one for iced coffee. He liked his hot and black; no foufou extras. But it was a hot day, and something about the cold drink just hit the spot.

"Yeah..." Lance watched the clouds drift over their little outdoor table, a smile on his face. "Thanks for planning a trip with us, dad. That was cool of you."

From where he hid beneath Lance's vest, Fluffernutter mewed his agreement. 

* * *

They reunited at the zoo, where Wanda put her headphones back on.

Todd, returned to his rightful place on Fred's shoulder, was giving them all a smug recounting of the afternoon's events. "Tro-bro _loooves_ me," he announced, making smooching sounds through puckered lips. "L-O-V-E, love in the city of love."

"I will personally run you to the top of Wild Mouse and drop you into a toad pancake," Pietro threatened. His hair resembled a silver thornbush.

"Nah, you won't. Cuz you _loooove_ m— ooh, duckies! Hi, duckies!"

A mother duck was indeed waddling her way over the cobblestones, a quintuplet of yellow fluffballs at her tail. The brotherhood all stopped to coo at and praise them, and Logan sighed.

"So glad I paid for zoo entry," he told nobody in particular. "Six bucks a pop, and we're all hyped for ducks, instead..."

"Look!" Wanda called, pointing. "Pigeons!" 

* * *

Of course they had Philly cheesesteaks for dinner. It would have been, as Todd put it, a "travesty" not to.

The twins were given blank stares when they ordered their sandwiches without cheese.

"Jewish," Pietro explained with a shrug. Wanda pointed to the small star of David nesting in the hollow of her collarbones.

"Oh. We got vegan cheese. You want that?"

"Yes, please."

It wasn't half bad, considering. They ate as they drove to the next state over; overnight parking and motels were cheaper past the Ohio border.  
  
Their motel room had two beds; one for Wanda and Fred to share with Fluffer, and one for Logan.

"I'm bunking with you," Todd informed him. "I get cold."

"Fine, but if you press your icy little froggy feet on me again, you're sleeping in the bathtub."

Todd cackled and made no promises.

Logan glanced over at Lance and Pietro, who were sitting an innocent three feet apart on the floor, their gazes intent on the TV blasting the evening news. "You two gonna be okay sleeping in the 'Bago?"

"Oh, sure."

"I guess that's fine."

As soon as they left the room, Todd put a conciliatory hand on Logan's arm. "You know they're gonna bang like a screen door in a hurricane, right?"

Logan blinked, then groaned, rubbing his tired eyes. He opened the window and leaned out, yelling, "you punks better air the place out before I have to smell anything!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering where this fits in the Dad Logan timeline… It takes place shortly after Lance graduates high school. So: sometime before the TMBtP epilogue; right in the middle of STiG. Four months before Counting Cobwebs.  
> But honestly, I'm not that great with math and dates (and maps). Please don't think too hard about it.


	2. Indiana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Not Louisiana, Paris, France, New York, or Rome, but—_   
>  _Gary, Indiana,_   
>  _My home sweet home!!!_

"That's the third 'Hell is Real' billboard we've passed in an hour," Todd complained, pulling faces at the traffic behind them. "What does that even _mean?_ Is it a call to action? An argument? They don't make their case very clear, yo."

Fred, who'd grown up in the deep south, snorted. "This ain't nothin'. You don't know passive aggressive 'til you've seen ads for strip clubs on top of billboards cursing gay marriage."

"Could be anti-Semitic," Pietro pointed out. "Jews don't believe in hell, so."

"What, really? So where do you send the bad people?"

Logan grinned. If they'd gotten to theological discussions already, this road trip was going great. By the time they got to LA, they'd all know more about each other, and themselves, than ever they'd expected.

The Children's Museum of Indianapolis was a pretty, colorful building, with fun dinosaur sculptures standing five stories high to peek into solid glass walls, Of course Pietro balked at the name — _"I'm seventeen!"_ — but everyone else was game.

Wanda, who'd inherited her father's insatiable curiosity, his need for discovery and knowledge, was especially intrigued. "Look," she pointed at a silk banner stretched around the entryway. "It says they have a temporary mummy exhibit..."

The museum was significantly cooler than the warm air outside, and she shivered when filing in. Fred tucked a big arm around her shoulders, cementing his status as a walking furnace, nearly seven feet tall. The first thing they saw were the dinosaurs; life-sized replicas of skeletons, fossils behind glass, moving animatronics...

Wanda stared in fascination at the case of fossilized eggs, both whole and fragmented. She read the placards about all of them, her head on Fred's chest.

Fred whistled when he saw Bucky, the teenage T-Rex, leering over them. "Big boy..."

"You could take him," Wanda teased, and he beamed.

They both pressed their hands into the fossil of a Brachylophosaurus footprint, and were awed by the size.

* * *

Pietro had little interest in old and dead things. The second he saw the robotics exhibit on the map, he was zipping upstairs. He'd wanted to join the school robotics club, but it conflicted too much with theater rehearsals...

And, if he was being quite honest, he'd been ashamed to explore that interest. It had seemed nerdy; uncool. He hadn't wanted to be seen with the science kids. He didn't want to do things his father might, _horror of all horrors,_ actually _approve_ of!

Stupid, of course. He planned to do more of what he loved during his senior year of high school. Why not enjoy things while they were still free?

Once at the exhibit, he found a museum employee and grilled them with rapid-fire questions. "What's that? What does it do? Who built that? Can I touch it? Can I climb inside?"

Unlike most people, the employee seemed amused, even thrilled, by his curiosity. Not five minutes later, Pietro was operating a robotic arm as it swiveled around a pedestal, lifting small objects with three delicate fingers. If he'd known how huge, how dorky his grin was, he might have been embarrassed. Maybe.

He _was_ embarrassed when he caught sight of Logan watching him, a gentle smile on his fuzzy face. He tried to back away from the equipment, but Logan shook his head. "No, no! Keep going, Sonic; this is cool. Tell me about it?"

Shyly, haltingly, Pietro did as requested. "Okay, uh. So this part is called the end effector..."

* * *

Lance and Todd loped along together, wandering without purpose, admiring whatever drew their attention.

That was, until a warm explosion of colors caught Todd's eye. Then he found himself grabbing Lance by the wrist and dragging him with shocking strength to a spacious, tiled room, covered floor to ceiling in crazy glass sculptures.

The main sculpture consisted of thousands of vines and flowers, crawling over themselves, closer and closer to a skylight, where sunshine appeared to set them ablaze. Scarlet glass; amber glass; crackling orange; poison green... The dazzling display of colors bouncing on every wall took Todd's breath away. He could only croak and peep, lost for words.

Smiling, Lance read aloud from a plaque on the wall. "This tower of blown glass, hand-crafted by artist Dale Chihuly, consists of over 3,200 pieces..."

They wandered, touching, tilting their heads this way and that to see how different angles of sunlight changed the sculpture. There were some small children, and their parents, working at computers on a table in the corner. Todd approached, peeking curiously over their shoulders at their projects.

"Are you making your own sculpture?" Todd asked, amazed, watching the kids size and arrange and colorize 3D shapes on a program.

"Yep!" answered one chatty little girl with purple baubles in her hair. "Look; this is a sphere, and this is a square-based pentagram; that one's really good for catching sunlight..."

Close to two hours later, that was where Logan found them; absorbed in crafting a digital masterpiece of their very own.

* * *

The six of them, and Fluffer (this time hidden in Wanda's bag), migrated together towards the Egyptian mummy exhibit, where Wanda lost herself to squealing, expounding on, each canopic jar to anyone who would listen.

"And this one is for the liver, and this one is for the lungs... The heart stays inside the body, because that's the 'center of one's being'..."

Looking vaguely nauseous, her twin turned away. He was attracted by the colors and size of a sarcophagus, and the cases displaying treasures the mummies were entombed with. Reading each plaque above the statues and jewelry, he quickly became distracted by another plaque: "A Love that Defied Gender."

Not two minutes later, he was excitedly snatching at the nearest person. He hauled Fred close and pointed. "Dude, dude, _look..._ Khnumhotep and Niankhkhnum, the guys in this painting? They were totally gay, dude; see how they're shown with their noses touching? That's supposed to represent kissing! They were laid to rest in the same _tomb!"_

He feared, for a moment, that Fred wouldn't understand his enthusiasm. That he would brush it off, or think Pietro was being weird. But he only smiled, reading over the plaque himself. "That's amazing... They were in love so long ago, and we're still talkin' about it today..."

Pietro beamed, practically glowing. He glanced to where Lance watched a television screen, where an archeologist demonstrated the mummification process using a raw, plucked chicken, and felt as though he were filled with a warm, pure light. "Yeah," he agreed. "It's... You got it, Freddo. It's just amazing."


	3. Illinois

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Betcha bottom dollar you'll lose your blues_   
>  _In Chicago, Chicago_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written about Pietro and Lance exploring more of Chicago (including Navy Pier) in my "Mix Tape" fanfic. I thought it would be better to write this scene that's been in my head for ages, rather than focus on local things, like I've done for the other chapters. Hopefully it still fits!

Logan waited until Lance excused himself from the table, making his way to the diner bathroom, to follow him and speak.

"Hey, bub. I wanted to ask you somethin'."

Lance paused at the urinal, fly undone. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just... I wanted to make sure you were okay with driving through Chi-town. I know you have bad memories of the place. If it bugs you, we can drive around it; no problem."

"Oh!" Lance's eyes went wide. A light blush dusted his cheeks. "Aw... That's sweet. It's no biggie. Chicago's alright. And honestly, I... I _wanted_ to go. There's something I gotta do."

He explained his plans to Logan, a tremor of nervousness in his heart. If Logan said no; said it was a bad idea...

But he just dipped his head. "You're sure, kid? You don't need me to go with you?"

"No, no! You guys have fun. You're gonna love Navy Pier; trust me."

"Alright..."

"Yeah... Hey, dad? I _ really  _ gotta pee now."

"Oh! Right, okay. I'm gonna finish my breakfast."

"Don't let Todd steal my eggs again." 

* * *

Lance told Pietro a dozen, a  _ hundred _ times that he didn't have to accompany him. By the time they reached the bus stop, Pietro clapped a hand over his boyfriend’s mouth. "Lancelot, if you want me to buzz off, just say so. Otherwise, I'm coming."

Lance opened his mouth; closed it. Opened it again. He sighed, then, his shoulders sagging. "I _ want _ you to come with me, P. I'm so scared..."

"That's what boyfriends are  _ for,  _ dingus. We're here to help with the scary stuff."   
  
They boarded the bus, and that's where they remained for close to two hours, enduring many stops and starts. Pietro was surprisingly patient throughout, holding Lance's hand when he fidgeted, snuggling when his leg bounced.

They got off at Centreville and walked a block, with Lance growing increasingly aware of the poverty, the dishevelment, of the city. Maybe he should tell Pietro to leave. Maybe—

"Hey. Hey," Pietro soothed, when Lance doubled over, hands on his knees, breathing hard. He was about a second from losing his breakfast. _"Look at me._ You're okay." He rubbed a hand up and down Lance's back, waiting for Lance to focus watery brown eyes on his face. "You're the motherfuckin' Avalanche, and you _got_ this shit, okay?"

Lance took several deep breaths, staring into Pietro's true-blue eyes, before he regained his composure. He swallowed; nodded. Wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and straightened. "Okay. Let's go."

Centerville wasn't the safest place for two boys to be seen holding hands, but Pietro was right. He was the Avalanche, and Pietro was Quicksilver, and he'd be damned if anyone could take that away from them.

It'd started out as a misty morning, and as they walked, a spitting drizzle flecked their skin with annoying drops, too small to see. They'd only just reached a corner shop, the address of which was stuffed in Lance's pocket, by the time it increased to an actual rainfall. They ducked inside.

"Can I use your phone?" Lance asked the burly cashier, standing behind a counter full of candy and chips. He punched ten digits into the keypad and waited, listening to the dial tone, spinning a jawbreaker across the glass countertop.

He sighed in relief when someone on the other line picked up. "Hey, mom. We're here..." 

* * *

Pietro's first impression of Ionia Alvarez was this:  _ small.  _ The thick soles of her shoes pushed her up to just five feet. She couldn't have weighed ninety pounds soaking wet, and there was a hunched, withered look to her that spoke of a hard life. 

But when she saw her son, when her dark eyes lit up and a smile overtook her narrow face, he saw the clear resemblance. She had Lance's broad nose; his square chin; his high cheekbones. She had his thick, dark hair, streaked with gray, brushing just past her collarbones.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, reaching for him before hesitating, perhaps fearing she wasn't wanted. Her little hands shook when she brought them to her mouth, instead; hiding her teeth by force of habit. "Oh, my baby..."

Lance positively dwarfed the woman when he held her, hugging so carefully that Pietro knew he feared hurting her. "Missed you, mom."

Her large, round eyes had filled with tears when she straightened, reaching to cup Lance's cheek. "You are so big now," she said in broken, accented English. "A handsome boy. Still my little prince..."

Lance smiled. His lips shook, like he was fighting down emotions of his own. He stepped back and reached for Pietro, beckoning him over. "Ma, I wanted you to meet my boyfriend. This is Pietro Maximoff."

* * *

They shared an umbrella, carrying her shopping bags, as they walked her home. The Section 8 apartment building was small and dimly lit, but her neighbors seemed kind. Ionia greeted them, warmly and by name, when they peeked through their doors. "Estelle! Juanita! Mr. Giordano! This is my son; my _ son!" _ _  
_ _  
_ Lance looked happy, but nervous. He twisted his fingers; cracked his knuckles, bounced his knees. Pietro knew he'd been taken away by CPS when he was small; Ionia's heroin addiction had made her a neglectful parent, and she'd been too far gone to care when her boyfriend started abusing her son.

She looked sober now; bright-eyed and chatty. And sure enough, when she sat them in the main room of her little apartment, Pietro spotted a frame holding several sobriety chips. One month, four months, seven months...

Her home was a cozy place. There was a sofa; a recliner; a coffee table strewn with magazines. No TV, but Pietro didn't watch much television, anyway. He focused on the pretty oil painting hung behind the sofa; all abstract in deep jewel tones. It looked amature, like maybe she'd painted it herself.

Stepping into the kitchenette, Ionia took the lid off a stovetop pan and waved the rising steam away. "I made dolmades for tea... Lamb instead of pork. Lance told me no pork."

Pietro swallowed, accepting when she handed him a plate. Of course Lance would remember to tell her that. Lance... Lance had _always_ been unfailingly good to him. "Thank you; that's very kind."

The grape leaves were tender; the meat-rice mixture flavorful and succulent. This woman knew her way around a spice rack.

Apparently Lance thought so, too, because his eyes closed while he chewed, an almost pained look on his face. "I missed your cooking," he said, so quietly that Pietro doubted she could hear.

When she sat in her recliner, Lance reached into his bag. "I got you some stuff."

His smile wasn't entirely natural, but that was more due to nerves than unhappiness. He was stressed, but he _wanted_ to be here. He first withdrew a pack of dark hot chocolate, purchased in Hersheypark, and then a small white box; both of which he gave to his mother.

"It's good," he said, nodding to the chocolate. "They gave me a sample... I know you like it kind of bitter."

She smiled, touched, and reached to pat his knee. Pietro watched curiously as she opened the box and pulled out a tiny glass bird, hung on a string like a Christmas ornament. She twisted it this way and that, admiring how the sunlight caught it and sent rainbows skittering over the room. "Oh, it is lovely!"

"You like swans, right?" Lance asked, leaning forward eagerly. "I remember... I found that in a museum gift shop and thought of you..."

He wanted, so badly, to be loved. Pietro recognized himself in Lance's earnestness; recognized how hard he'd tried to please his own father before learning it was impossible. It lanced a bittersweet sort of ache through his heart, just then.

Ionia stood and, climbing on a chair, hung the swan on a hook above her kitchen window. Every time a cloud passed before the sun, another rainbow glittered on the opposite wall. "It is perfect, little prince; I love it. I love you."

She stepped through a door, probably to her bedroom, and returned with an envelope in hand. "I had something for you, as well."

Lance curiously opened the envelope, from which he pulled out an old photograph and a piece of notebook paper. On the page was an address for someone named Khloe Callas, who lived in Macedonia.

"My aunt, Khloe," Ionia explained. "She... She wouldn't speak with _me,_ but if _you_ mailed your questions to her, I believe she would answer. It can be in English... The neighbor children read English for her."

Curious, Pietro peeked over Lance's shoulder at the photo, which featured a laughing old man with nut-brown skin and more wrinkles than there were clouds in the sky. He was seated at a dinner table surrounded by people; probably his family.

"Is this great-grandpa Dominikos?"

Ionia nodded.

To Pietro, Lance explained, "There's a family rumor that he could move mountains. I wondered... You know. If it was just rumors, or if he really _was_ a mutant. Hopefully my great-aunt knows."

Pietro studied the photo. There was something about the old man's crooked, shy smile that reminded him of Lance. It made him feel warm, thinking about an old Lance, someday. Would _he_ smile so brightly?

"Thanks, ma." Lance carefully put everything back in the envelope, and tucked it into his bag. "That's a big help."

She nodded; smiled. Again, she covered her mouth to hide her teeth. "Tell me about your vacation?"

"Oh!" Lance brightened. "Dad— I mean...  _ Logan..." _ he looked mortified at the slip. Ionia's eyes went soft, perhaps a little sad, but she reached for his hand. Gave it a squeeze.

"What did your dad do?"

Something tight in Pietro's chest began to unclench, if only a fraction. He didn't trust parents; how could he? They threw their kids away like they were nothing. But maybe she was trying, now. Too little, too late, but better than nothing, right? 

"Right," Lance swallowed. "So, um. He rented a Winnebago, and we're driving down Route 66; all the way to California. We're stopping in all the states..." 

* * *

Ionia walked them back to the bus stop on her way to her job, where she worked nights at a laundromat.

Once there, Lance fidgeted, then opened his arms, a hopeful smile on his face.

Without hesitation, Ionia stepped into his embrace, squeezing him tight around the waist. For such a little thing, she was strong.  "You be a good boy," she told her son, patting his face. "You will call me?"

"Of course. Want me to send you postcards on our trip?"

"Yes!"  She pulled from Lance and gave Pietro a look. This kind of affection wasn't really in his comfort zone, but he did the polite thing and hugged her back, smiling when she kissed his cheeks. "You take good care of my baby. And yourself.”

"Yes, ma'am."

_ 'Ma'am!  _ What the hell? He'd never called anyone ‘ma’am’ in his life. This whole thing was too weird; too awkward.

They rode the bus from Centerville to Chicago; then, because it was raining fairly hard, took a taxi to the campground where the 'Bago was parked.

"Jeez," Pietro grumbled, his high-tops sinking into the muddy ground. "So much for pitching a tent; we'll _ all  _ be crammed in this rust-bucket tonight."

"It's not so bad," Lance reasoned. "Look; the front seats tip all the way back, and the table turns into a bed..."

"Fine, I guess, but Logan better not make tuna-mac for dinner. If this place smells like fish, I'm running to the nearest five-star hotel, and I'm not coming back."

Lance sighed. He knew why Pietro was cranky; it was his defense mechanism kicking in after he'd felt vulnerable, stressed, all afternoon. Meeting Lance's mom had rattled him, too.

With a mew, Fluffer climbed out of the drivers' side footwell and rubbed against Pietro's shins, begging for dinner. Pietro made sure to mix his dry food with canned chicken; not fish. Lance hastily scooped the litter box and had a Febreze party in the back.

"I'm gonna take a shower." Pietro grabbed his towel and squeezed into the pint-sized bathroom. Lance got the percolator to bubbling and set himself up at the table with the envelope his mother had given him, and some stationary.

_ "Dear Great-Aunt Khloe..." _ he began writing. He poured himself some coffee; scritched Fluffer's ears when the chunky cat clambered into his lap.

Pietro wandered out minutes later, damp in his pajamas, and snuggled against Lance's side. Lance put an arm around his boyfriend, comforted by the bleep-bloop sounds of the handheld game he'd 'borrowed' from Todd's stuff.

"You spelled 'resources' wrong," Pietro commented, reading over his shoulder. "And 'heritage’."

Lance swore. Erased. Tried again. Pietro kissed his shoulder. The sound of rain hitting the tin roof of the 'Bago was a calming, cozy one.   
  
It was after dark when the rest of their family returned, paper bags full of greasy burgers in hand. Todd, who was always in a good, froggy mood during a gentle rain, chattered their ears off about Navy Pier.

Hours later, with Logan and Fred snoring in the front seats, Todd tucked in snug between them, Lance squeezed onto the table-bed with the twins. The fact that they were all tall people did not make this an easy process, and as soon as he pulled the blanket over himself, a sleeping Wanda stole it away.   
  
"I wanna feed the pony," Fred whined from the front, and rolled onto his side. His snores kicked back in half a second later.

Pietro and Lance locked eyes for the briefest of moments before they had to look away again, both stifling their giggles. The rain pattered on.


	4. Missouri

Now that they were on the official 'Route 66,' the true vastness of their trip opened up before them. It would take fourteen days to drive straight from Chicago to LA, but they weren't driving straight. They stopped every day for an adventure. They were unlikely to return to Bayville by month's end.

"What's the hurry?" Logan shrugged. "The builders have so much left to do on our house. Might as well give 'em time."

The lack of routine wasn't great for Wanda's mental health, so she found it where she could. The same breakfast every morning: cornflakes and bananas, followed by a twenty minute walk outside, often with her brother. A lot of time spent with Fluffer in her lap.

They found a laundromat in Missouri to wash their clothes and blankets, then once more converged on the guide books to choose an adventure.

"Uranus Fudge Factory?"

"Jesus."

"Big Dick's Halfway Inn?"

"Who _bought_ this guidebook?!"

Lance and Fred both covered their mouths, snickering. Pietro huffed and flipped through more pages.

"Don't look so _Missouri_ -able, Tro," Todd patted him on the back.  
  
"Oh my God... Oh, my God, that gas station was called the 'Kum and Go'..."

Pietro noted with disgust that even _Logan_ was biting down on a giggle. Just terrible, really.

"Tell ya what," Logan decided. "We're all a little beat, yeah? Wanna do something nice and chill?"

They agreed.

"I got two ideas... There's the 'Ride-Thru Caverns' on the way; those are pretty neat. You get to drive through these saltpeter caves in a little Jeep; have a tour..."

"Didn't the KKK used to meet there?" Todd asked, frowning.

"Yeah... A lot of shit went down. I'm sure the tour guide would fill us in."

"What's option two?" Fred asked. Ever since Magneto knocked an entire house down on him, he wasn't too keen on hanging out in tight, dark, underground places.

"There's the Wonders of Wildlife. I know you kids like animals, and museums. It's an aquarium, too."

"They don't try to keep whales or tangs or dolphins, do they?" Wanda asked anxiously. "Nothing that suffers in captivity?"

"Nah, Sparkles. They're good."

It was agreed. Only Lance was a little bummed not to be going to the cool, rocky place... And in a Jeep, too!

Upon arrival, everyone looked around in amazement at the tall white walls, all featuring a 'window,' each the size of a garage door. Whole families gathered before each window, goggling at the fish on the other side.

Wanda felt uneasy, even before Pietro dragged her to one window, where a shipwreck was staged. The whole hall felt sterile; clinical. These fish would spend their whole lives being stared at, unable to choose when they were medicated; what they ate... They existed to be viewed, judged, by others; no privacy, no agency, forever isolated and gazed upon...

Wanda's vision went blurry and, when she blinked, she thought she saw a girl in the shipwreck; her arms bound, her eyes blank...

"Sparkles!" Logan barked, and Wanda looked to see that her fingertips were glowing. She wanted, she realized, to smash the windows to pieces. Better to be dead than in a cage!

Ripping her hand out of Pietro's, she ran deeper into the aquarium, evading Logan's grasping arms. She felt sick to her stomach. She needed to find a bathroom, and fast.

She reached one in time, dropping to her knees and dry-heaving into a toilet. Every time, _every_ time she thought she was getting better, something else would happen, and—

"Babycakes?"

Todd's voice, just outside her stall, had her lifting her cheek from the cool porcelain. Her mouth felt full of acid. "Go away; this is the girl's bathroom..."

"I ain't gonna leave you, Babycakes. Can I come in?"

She tested herself, looking down at the cloudy water. She wasn't going to gag again, so she stood and flushed the toilet. "I'm coming out."

She did, too, straightening her clothes, fluffing her hair, and leaving the stall. Todd was waiting for her at the sinks, his eyes deliberately blank. He must've known that pity would only embarrass her.

"Here; swish your mouth out." He handed her a water bottle from his bag.

Wanda did, spitting into the sink. She rinsed her clammy face, too, rubbing her temples with cool fingers.

"Gum?" Todd offered a stick of wintergreen. She took it, relieved as the acid flavor receded to a minty nothing.

Her heart, her breathing, had eased. Very slowly, Todd took her hand in his small, webbed one.

"Triggers are a bitch, huh?" he asked, smiling wryly. "Know what always gets _me?_ Cop sirens. They could be pulling over someone halfway across the street, and I'm still back in my five-year-old body, gettin' pushed around for sleeping on playground equipment. Threatenin' to take me to a home; ignorin' me when I said I had a mama..." 

"That's terrible," Wanda murmured, her voice raw. "You were a child. You had nowhere else to sleep."

"Mhmmm. Try tellin' the cops that, though. Buncha bullies." He squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back.

"Can I show you somethin' neat?" he asked. "If you don't like it, Logan says he'll take you somewhere else; somewhere nice. Ice cream, probably."

Wanda nodded. She trusted Todd. He was more sensitive than most; he would be able to predict what was harmful and what was helpful.

He held her hands as they walked back through the terrible Ocean Hall, which had disturbed her so. He tugged her this way and that to avoid walking into walls, then got her into a darker room. The light filtering through her eyelids had gone dim; no longer clinical, bright-white fluorescents.

"Okay," Todd said. "Open 'em now."

The room Wanda found herself in, labelled 'Shipwreck Reef' in curling letters on one wall, was indeed designed to look like a ship at the bottom of the ocean. Looking up revealed gigantic fish and shadows darting along the ceiling, and as people moved through the railings, they descended to a hold where they could pet live stingrays.

An enormous tank, shaped like a cylinder, in the center of the room was filled with colorful eels and fish, darting in and out of toys and hides and plants.

"Oh..." Wanda sighed, dreamy. It felt like living in a cartoon, where all the colors were intense and surreal.

"This is better, huh?" Todd grinned. "C'mon; you'll like this."

They walked together through planks and helms and a battered diver's helmet, all the way down to where stingrays played in sloshing water.

An employee wiped their hands down with a special cloth, removing harmful oils, and then Wanda dipped her fingers into the cool water, stroking the smooth back of a gray pancake.

That touch, more than anything, grounded her back, firmly, in reality. As more rays came to her side of the pool, she made an effort to stroke them all. Some peeped above the water, flashing their silly mouths, and Wanda giggled.

"They think you have food," explained the employee. "Spoiled..."

When Wanda glanced over, she saw that Todd was beaming. 

* * *

Once he was certain his sister wasn't going to blow the place up, Pietro forced himself to relax.

"I know what you're thinking," Lance murmured, and Pietro huffed.

"Oh, so you're a mind-reader, now? Not just an earth-shaker?"

"You're thinking," Lance said patiently, "that it's your fault; that you should've noticed she was upset."

"Well—!" Damn. When Lance was right, he was right. "You _don't_ think so?"

"Nobody's on their A-game all the time, P. You were just distracted by all the cool stuff. It's not your job to constantly be aware of everyone’s moods."

It _used_ to be his job, when they were little kids. Back when the littlest mood swing could result in Pietro, or Magneto, being bashed violently into walls, or tossed through windows. He'd blocked out most of that period of childhood, but some of the feelings lingered. Maybe a _lot_ of them lingered.

"I don't want to think about it," Pietro said firmly. When Lance looked like he wanted to argue, he reiterated, "Please. I really, really, _really_ can't think about it right now."

Lance relented with a sigh. Tucking an arm around his boyfriend's shoulders, they wandered through the — admittedly very cool — aquarium. They found a room that looked and sounded exactly like a bayou at night.

"Oof," Pietro shivered at the owl hoots and bug chirps and mysterious other noises he couldn't quite place. The realism was intense; they even had the occasional blue witch-light illuminating the tangled cypress trees. "Spooky."

"Don't worry, baby. I'd wrestle a gator for you."

Pietro snorted. He couldn't fight his smile, so he didn't try. "And then I'd run in and save your ass when the gator won, right?"

"Well, obviously."

A black bear animatronic growled at them, swiping with a paw the size of a trash can lid, and Lance jumped, yelped, barked his shin on a tree, and cursed. A laugh burst from Pietro, and Lance pretended to pout. "Mean."

"You like it."

They reached a wall of gray-green water, where pale ghoulies and ghosties splashed. Pietro wasn't like Fred; he couldn't find the beauty in _everything_ natural. Creepy was creepy, and these fish were it!

Lance, reading the placards, giggled himself silly when he learned there was a type of fish called a 'crappie.'

"That one is you," Pietro informed Lance, pointing to an enormous, blobby catfish; long whiskers growing from every orifice on its face.

The catfish looked quite offended.

* * *

Fred had been pleased to find he did, indeed, fit inside the glass tunnel for the 'River Monsters' exhibit. Sometimes, tunnels just weren't tall or wide enough to accommodate a boy like him.

Most days, it felt like the whole _world_ wasn't big enough. Everything from bus seats to showerheads weren't made for him. He was perpetually proven unwelcome in a thousand tiny ways.

But if Fred was big, the creatures he gazed at now were positively _gigantic._ He watched in wonder as a snaggletoothed alligator gar drifted past, serene and content in its mass.

He pressed his palm to the curved glass, and a curious ray with a nine-foot wingspan came to investigate. Fred smiled. "Hey, cutie."

Logan, stout and determined, marched on through. He ignored the hungry-looking arapaima that followed him from one end of the tunnel to another,

When he and his tallest son emerged into the 'Marvels of the Deep' exhibit, they looked around the bright coral reef in impressed curiosity.

Fred gasped at the pinky-purple octopus, its arms long enough to wrap around his whole body twice, who appeared to be waving at them from atop a grassy knoll.

"That's Barney," an employee beamed. "He's very friendly. He stole my earrings, once."

Barney was clearly _not_ sorry about the theft. His posture seemed to suggest he'd do it again.

"I love him," Fred whispered.

"Don't even think about it, bub," Logan warned. "We already have one naughty little stinker."

"You mean Fluffer, or Pietro?"

They both snickered.

Suspended on the ceiling was the skeleton of a sperm whale. Each of its ribs was larger than Logan's entire body. They stared at it in awed wonder. Such an incredible animal...

"She was beached in Florida back in the eighties," explained the helpful employee. "Volunteers tried to save her, but she was too badly injured from a boating accident. We use her skeleton now to teach about conservation and careful boating practices."

Some of her bones were, indeed, broken; Fred looked sadly at the places they were wired or screwed together to keep the thing in one piece. He could just imagine the unfortunate boat collision; her echolocation all messed up from the boat's noisy motors...

"Would you like a pamphlet about responsible fishing?" the employee offered, pulling two from her apron. Just as Fred took them, a frantic Todd and Wanda burst into the exhibit, looked around, and made a beeline for Logan.

"We gotta _go,_ man; we gotta vamoose." Todd tugged Logan's sleeve, trying and failing to budge the heavy man, even an inch.

"What did you do?" Logan asked, looking more concerned than annoyed. His eyes flicked to Wanda, no doubt remembering her near-meltdown from earlier.

Todd winced. "So, you know there's this cool rainforest exhibit, yeah? And how there's tons of frogs in the rainforest?"

"Yes...?"

"So — just theoretically speaking, mind you — if a certain boy was _able_ to climb the walls, and _just wanted_ a closer look at the frogs... _Theoretically,_ if he were to climb inside the exhibit to meet his froggo cousins… There's no _reason_ that should be against the rules, right?"

"Jesus _Christ,_ Todd."

"I'm not saying I did it!"

"Are you saying you _didn't_ do it?"

"Well..."

Two security officers slipped into the room, their eyes going immediately to Todd. One of them spoke quietly into a walkie-talkie.

Logan rubbed both hands over his weary face and groaned.


	5. Oklahoma

__

_"O-o-o-klahoma, where the wind comes sweepin' down the plain!"_

"Todd."

_"And the wavin' wheat can sure smell sweet, when the wind comes right behind the rain!"_

"Todd, please."

"He's gonna fall out the window..."

"Pietro will catch him."

Logan startled when he smelled blood. First he glanced to Todd, who was leaning like a dog from the window and singing showtunes at the top of his lungs. But, no... He was fine. Following his nose, he then turned to Wanda. Glanced down. Saw a deep red puddle staining the front of her shorts.

"Aw, Sparkles."

She looked up from her paperback. Met his eyes. Looked down, then sighed. "I need a bathroom break."

"Can do."

He beeped the horn, and Pietro, just ahead, slowed. Logan pointed to the next exit. Pietro gave a thumbs up and kept running.

They found a Wal-Mart just a few miles off, and everyone filed out to stretch their legs; pee; fuel up on snacks and drinks. Lance mailed a letter and a handful of postcards. Fred scooped the litter box.

Logan nabbed a box of tampons and a bottle of Midol, trading them over the unisex bathroom stall for Wanda's shorts, which he held under cold water at the sink. "You feeling okay?"

"Yes. Just hungry."

"We'll get lunch, while we're here."

The group congregated at a Burger King inside the store, showing off their purchases over chicken nuggets and milkshakes. "We have that little DVD player in the 'Bago, so I got some movies on clearance."

"'Austin Powers'? _Really?!"_

"I'm a man of refined taste."

Wanda joined them, wearing a new pair of shorts, and helped herself to fries and soda. She showed Logan a book she'd found; the next in a series she'd been reading. "Will you buy this for me?"

"Sure, hon." He ruffled her hair, which had gone curly in her days without styling tools. It was pretty damn cute.

"Dad, look!" Fred poked a triangular advertisement stuck to the empty table next to theirs. "'Murder Mystery Dinner Theater'? I've always wanted to go to one of those..."

Logan looked. He peeled the ad off the table and turned it over, studying the map on the back. The hotel it was hosted in wasn't too far away, and tickets weren't terribly expensive. He glanced at Fred, then at the rest of the kids. "What do you think?"

Lance shrugged. Pietro snatched for the ad, of course intrigued by the 'theater' part of the title. It wasn't a local treasure, by any means, but Wanda probably didn't feel like walking around a theme park, museum, or monument with a tummy full of cramps. They could do something more traditionally Okie on their way back home.

But what to do in the meantime? The kids were going stir crazy. He watched, sighing, as Todd tried to cram a fry up Pietro's nose.

"'Scuse me, miss," Logan called to the Burger King cashier; a pretty woman he thought must be Chickasaw, judging by her warm brown skin and silky braids. "Are there any decent parks nearby? These kids are driving me bananas."

She thought it over. "There's a neighborhood park by my friend's house that's alright; ducks, swings, a pond... Do you have a pen? I'll give you the cross-street."

* * *

The park was a good idea. The kids needed a chance to air out; get all the Naughty out of their system. Logan watched, bemused, as Lance carried Pietro on his shoulders, trying his damndest to push _Todd_ off of _Fred's_ shoulders.

"None of y'all better end up in the lake!" Logan called after them. "Or y'ain't getting dessert!"

They didn't listen. He wasn't surprised.

Sunning in the thick grass beside him, Wanda held on to Fluffer's leash with one hand and turned the pages of her book with the other. The cat was slowly creeping up on the oblivious ducks at the waterside. Logan tossed a ball with a jingle-bell inside to distract him from murder.

Pietro, having fallen off Lance, ran three laps around the park, then hid behind Logan, a hand on his shoulder. "Safe!" he called. 

"Cheater!" Todd accused.

"Am not! It's _in the rules!"_ He flopped in the grass next to his sister, narrowly avoiding Fluffer wrestling with his jingle-ball. "What are you reading?"

She showed him the cover. "It's good; a hat-maker gets turned into an old lady, so she goes to the local wizard's castle and moves in..."

Hopping on all fours, Todd sailed over them, tagged the top of Logan's head, and disappeared into the sandbox. "Safe!"

"We're not playing that game anymore!"

"Yeah-huh! You never called it off!"

Pietro rose to find the sneaky frog. It was hard to tag him when he hid, clinging upside-down, beneath the playground equipment. Soon, Wanda was called in for her expertise.

Logan took hold of Fluffer's leash and watched with a grin as Wanda pretended to use her magic to pull Todd loose, then instead turned it on her twin, keeping his feet rooted to the spot.

Pietro looked at her with enormous, betrayed eyes. _"Et_ _tu,_ sister-mine?!"

Fred and Lance, jogging, caught up and began to 'tag' Pietro a hundred times each. He shrieked in melodramatic dismay. "Good King of Cats, nothing but one of your nine lives; that I mean to make bold withal, and as you shall use me hereafter!"

Todd hopped onto Pietro, sending them both crashing into the sand. Wanda sat on one swing, and Lance, the other.

Pietro, who always loved a good death scene, threw his head back and shook a fist at the heavens. "A _plague_ on both your houses!" 

* * *

When they got to the hotel, Logan was glad he’d had the kids wash up; put on decent clothes. The Skirvin Hilton was a classy place. Logan paid the parking fee while the kids ogled the tall, gorgeous hotel, twinkling bright against the setting sun.

"Can we stay here overnight?" Pietro begged, hands clasped beneath his chin. "Please, please, _please?"_

"If you've got a couple hundred per room, per night, hidden somewhere in those skinny jeans, then sure."

Pietro looked as though he wanted to argue that he could very _easily_ acquire that kind of cash via the five-finger discount, but Logan gave him a Look, and he fell quiet, pouting.

Doormen greeted them, holding the doors open for. When Logan explained what they were there for, one pointed down the hallway. "Conference room six; you can't miss it."

They walked through the grand lobby, admiring crystal chandeliers and oil paintings of the Ouachita mountains. The doormen were right; the doorway for conference room six had been gussied up to resemble the front of an old-fashioned train. The wooden set was complete with safety valves, driving wheels, washout plugs, and a whistle that blasted loudly when they pulled the doors open.

"Howdy, y'all!" greeted a bubbly blonde in a prairie schooner dress of peacock blue. "Welcome to the Flying Pussyfoot; the fastest engine in the west!"

Logan put a hand over Todd's mouth. He didn't have to look at him to know it was necessary.

"Howdy, miss," Fred replied, tipping an imaginary hat. "Do we have reservations for the show tonight? We should be registered under 'Howlett'."

She glanced down at the clipboard in her arms; flipped a page. Beamed. "Well, you sure do! Just hustle your little selves on over to table number six; dinner should be ready soon!"

They hustled their little selves on over.

"So that's what happens when you give Barbie some MDMA," Pietro muttered. Logan elbowed him, scowling.

"I liked her boobs," Wanda remarked.

Logan felt a headache brewing.

Table six, like all the other tables, had ten chairs around it. Six chairs had a sticker on the back that read 'Howlett.' Three chairs had the name 'Johnson,' and the one at the head was blank.

"Oh, ew," Pietro sighed as they all sat. "You mean we have to sit with _other people?"_

This time, _Fred_ elbowed him. He was practically glowing with excitement. Sighing, Pietro decided to shut up and be nice. For now.

A server brought them bread and butter, and took their drink orders. Logan nudged Lance. "Are you okay with driving tonight?"

"Sure."

Logan ordered the local craft. He hadn't been to Oklahoma in a few decades, and remembered their home-brews being particularly dark and rich.

Like the door, the rest of the conference room was decorated to resemble the dining cart on a train from a hundred years ago; everything from the tablecloths to the swinging overhead lights to the "windows" projected on the walls showing off a desert landscape.

Wanda stuffed half the bread loaf in her mouth before realizing it was meant to be shared. She didn't regret it. It was tasty, and not nearly big enough.

They must've been early, because they were among the first to arrive. Over the next twenty minutes, more groups of people drifted in and were directed to their seats. The Johnson family turned out to be a married couple with an adorable little girl. More bread and drinks were served, along with soup and salad.

"It's always the ones closest to your bowl," Logan muttered to Lance, who looked confused about which spoon and fork he should use. "You work your way out through the courses."

Not that it really mattered. The little girl grabbed a spoon at random, and Logan couldn't imagine anyone actually caring.

"Good evening passengers," the blonde from before spoke, swirling her dress about her ankles. Her voice echoed through small speakers hidden cleverly through the room, and Pietro spotted a small microphone clipped to her neckline. "Welcome aboard the Flying Pussyfoot!"

"We're glad to come!" Todd cheered through a mouthful of albondigas. Logan stepped on his toes, but only very lightly.

"I like that enthusiasm! I'm Posey Peters, and I'll be your host for this train ride. And joining us today are my six friends! Meet Guido Gamberini, Maria Moreno, Hannah Harper, Tex Thompson..."

With each alliteration, a new actor decked in frontier garb made themselves known, joining "Posey" as they preened and posed and chewed the scenery. Lance tried to stab a cherry tomato with his fork and it shot across the table into Todd's throat. Logan chugged the last of his beer and looked around for more.

When all seven of the actors filled the center of the room, Posey gestured to the now closed doors, which were designed to resemble a train cabin. "And now let's all give a warm round of applause to our incredible conductor, Phil Graves! Phil is taking us safely all the way from Oklahoma City to Austin, Texas. No nasty no-good bandit can stop our train with Phil in charge of things!"

"Yeeeeeee- _HAW!"_ came the cheer from just beyond the door. 

Everyone clapped politely. Fred was practically vibrating with excitement. "Phil! Phil! Phil! Phil!" Todd cheered, pumping his fist.

Posey waited for the applause to die down before explaining, "We'll get y'all your vittles in a jiffy, and we can all settle in for a nice, relaxing train-ride. After all, with Phil behind the wheel, what could _possibly_ go wrong?"

She gave them all a wink before the troupe of actors dispersed, slipping out of the room. A minute later, servers arrived wheeling carts of the main course.

"I said that everyone wanted the chicken breast," Logan muttered as dishes began hitting the placemats. "Hope that's okay."

Fred didn't look as though he cared whether he ate chicken breast or raccoon feet. He was here for the show, and the rest was all secondary.

Pietro had to concede that the chicken and rice pilaf _was_ tasty; well-seasoned. He snuck his asparagus onto Lance's plate and stole his carrot spears in exchange.

"I'm Avery," the little girl informed them all loudly, while her mother cut her tilapia and squeezed lemon over the top. "I'm nine."

"Are you!" Fred widened his eyes, impressed. "I'm Fred. I'm sixteen."

"Oh," she blinked. "That's _old."_

"I know, right?!"

The speakers that had projected Posey's voice now played sounds of a train chugging and choo-choo-ing. The scenery through the "windows" occasionally changed, rolling slowly by. Gradually, the actors emerged from wherever they'd been hiding, flitting from table to table like overdressed butterflies.

"I know everyone here loves Phil," confided Guido, in a phoney accent that would make Nintendo's Mario blush. "But I've heard he's a dirty, rotten scoundrel of a man..."

“How so?” Fred asked.  
  
Guido’s scowl darkened. “I dare not say.”

"Has anyone seen my pearl earrings?" asked Esther Everly, a stuffy old woman with a bust like a pigeon's. They shook their heads no. "Where could they have gone?! I just _bet_ that rascally Hannah had something to do with it… Young people, these days!"

When Pietro glanced over, he saw that Fred was taking careful notes on a pad he'd brought.

By the time creme brulee was served for dessert, each actor had made themself comfortable sitting at the different tables.

Hannah, with auburn ringlets and a neckline so low she _had_ to be using spirit gum to keep things legal, settled primly into their empty chair and fanned herself. She locked her green gaze on Lance, looking him up and down. "My, my... What a _fine_ looking bunch y'all are..."

"Bet she's the killer," Pietro muttered, grouchy once more.

"Shh." Fred nudged him. "How are you, miss Harper?"

She smiled, slow and sweet. "Well, ain’t _you_ a gentleman. I'm doin' just fi— oops!" When she moved her arm, two pearl earrings fell from her sleeve. Giggling prettily, she tucked them back in. "Silly me. What were y'all sayin'?"

The lights went out all at once. Avery cried out in alarm when she felt fabric brush her arm. There was a rustling, a chattering, a shout.

From the doors, they heard Phil speak: "What in tarnation?! What're you _doin'_ with that thing? You can't! Oh, please, no!"

There was the bang of a gunshot, and then all the lights returned, revealing a room completely devoid of actors.

"Oh my gosh, y'all!" Posey squealed, looking terrified as she ran back into the dining cart, skirts clutched about her knees to reveal bulky, long underwear. "Phil Graves is dead!" 

* * *

"You didn't tell me the winner would get a free night at the hotel!"

"I didn't know; swear I didn't!"

"Good thing Fred took such good notes; I never would've guessed..."

"Three cheers for Detective Freddo!"

The Brotherhood, and their dad, lolled around the luxury suite, playing with the air conditioning and flipping channels on the TV and getting lost in the piles of pillows on each king-sized bed.

Logan gave Fluffer a stern look. "You be a good boy. We're not s'posed to have animals in here. We could get in big trouble."

"Moo."

Lance, lying on his stomach as he filled out another postcard for his mom, gave a little laugh. "I can't believe Phil Graves was sleeping with the old lady—"

"And married to Posey! No wonder she shot him.”

"Not until Hannah poisoned him! She wanted to take over their smuggling business, remember?"

"Guido was right. He _was_ a dirty, rotten scoundrel."

From the bathroom stepped Pietro, trailing steam, wearing a bathrobe, slippers, and approximately three towels. He sighed in true bliss. "I haven't had a decent shower in _decades."_

"You're seventeen, so..."

"Did I stutter?"

He flopped on the bed between Wanda and Lance, and Fred took his place, shutting the bathroom door and starting the shower up again.

Todd, now alone on the second enormous bed, admired the souvenir mug they'd won. He'd been snickering over the "I Survived the Flying Pussyfoot" design for fifteen minutes straight.

When Logan wasn't looking, he snagged the TV remote with his tongue and flipped the channel over to Cartoon Network. He let out a soft "oof!" when Fluffer leapt onto his stomach, then stroked the purring cat's ears.

Logan, pleasantly tipsy, sprawled on the comfy leather sofa and giggled at Spongebob. He didn't think he'd ever been on a better vacation.


End file.
